


Attacked

by hirusen



Category: Tales of An Author (Original Work)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety-Depression, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Third Person, Realistic, Suicidal Thoughts, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-12-31 05:49:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12125901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirusen/pseuds/hirusen





	1. Chapter 1

Having read the comment, she felt her body start to shake. Her chest tightened, doing what she could to breathe deeply, slowly; the shaking gotten worse. She felt that all too familiar discomfort start to bubble in her gut, taking the form of semi-painful gas. Her nerves starting to get shot, she moved the computer mouse over the reply and typed her response to the seemingly hateful comment. She tried to keep her slight anger out of her reply; she had done her best to research the topic she was trying to convey in her story, so she wouldn't accidentally offend one of her readers or someone who was simply passing through her works and read it out of curiosity.

A tremor shook her whole frame at being told not to write about something she was doing her damnest to do justice; to let the people it actually applies to, to write these kinds of stories. Tears moistened her cheeks, trying not to cry, but being unable to stop it. How could she? Her stupid anxiety had already took hold of her thoughts. What if the next chapter she writes gets even more hateful comments? What if the story gets taken down? She just wanted to explore an idea, a headcannon that she thought was interesting; was it really that bad that she was just having trouble conveying in her writings?

The gas got more painful. It drew her focus away from what her next step was for a second, long enough for more anxious thoughts to bombard her. She sniffed the mucus back into her nose, the shaking worse as she started to type new notes into the first and second chapters of her latest story, hitting the backspace more and more has her hands shook, fingers hitting the wrong keys that she had slowly come to memorize. Another tremble, another sniffle, more tears ran down her cheeks. Her breath had returned to her, but only a little bit.

Her mind wandered to the other thoughts, the ones she had grown numb to. She was stupid for writing the story in the first place, she should just delete it. Hell, maybe she should just give up on writing all together; what was the point, if all of her stories were going to get hate like her latest one did? She had explained that she was having a little trouble writing it properly, said that she wasn't trying to offend anyone by writing the story. Not every author gets all the details right, even when they research it as deeply as she did.

...Maybe she should end it all. That numbness heated her veins. The shaking had stopped, though the anxiety persisted. Just give up, it's not worth it. Just delete all the works here, leave it all, end it. She felt nothing. The tears still stained her skin, but she no longer cared. Her head felt heavy, wanting to just stop typing those most likely pointless notes in her story and just get to sleep, but the nagging in the back of her mind wouldn't leave her be. If she couldn't get her mind to be blank, even for a moment, she knew she wasn't going to get to sleep.

Her fingers were slipping more over the keys, deleting, typing, deleting, typing. It was a never ending cycle. She skin felt hot, which she knew wasn't good. The depression had settled in for the night, she guessed. Nothing new for her though, she spent most of her teenage years with that numbness. She never said anything about it anyone though; her mom has depression, so she wasn't too surprised when she had it too. Sometimes the nights she cried herself to sleep were the best ones; she always felt so rested when she woke up.

But the anxiety...that had always changed things. It made her suicidal, the thought in the back of her throat when both her anxiety and depression hit her. The idea was always appealing in an unsettling way; she knew ending her life when she was still young would hurt so many people in her life; her mother, her grandfather, her family, her friends, her co-workers, her regulars at her work. She understood the rippling affect her premature death would cause, but despite that she still toyed with the thought, even though she really shouldn't.

Didn't help that she had a pocket-knife in her room; a gift from a co-worker from her first real job. Or, there was the highway bridge; it was within walking distance and at this late at night, there wasn't a lot of people around to try and stop her. But, she wouldn't do that. The thoughts of her death caused her just as much anxiety as it relieved. She instead choose to listen to some of her favorite songs, hoping that that would help calm her nerves. She still shook, but not as bad, the tears wielding up in her eyes less and less, the heat that came with her depression slowly fading.

She changed her position on her bed, a thin yet warm blanket covering her naked legs; leaning backwards, her shoulders and neck rested against the large teddy bear she's had for as long as she could recall. The support of the bear brought a little more comfort to her as she checked the time.

It was 3 in the morning. And she wasn't even tired. Her heartbeat finally was back to normal, her breathing back under her control. The shaking was still there, but no longer prominent, fewer slip-ups in her typing. Taking a deep breath, snorting the snot back into her nose as she did, she opened up a new story and began to write.

Writing was her freedom. It was her escape from reality, from the stress-educing world she lived in. It was the only way she didn't have a total break down, the only reason she hadn't committed suicide. Having someone tell her to not write, that her story wasn't meant for someone like her to write, shot through her defenses and yanked her tightly chained anxiety to the surface. She was normally better at handling comments like the ones that hit her like a bullet; she had always known that there was no way to please everyone when she wrote, and she tried to explain why she writes what she does, or explain as best as she can if one of her readers is lost or confused with the story.

She was always one who enjoyed comments that explained why something was wrong or what she could do to expand to the ideas in a constrictive way, always reassuring her readers who feel like their comment might have sounded rude or hateful that they aren't, and that she appreciate what they said. But the ones that were straight up attacks, ones that told her to write about what she knows, those hurt her. What the hell was she suppose to write if that's what she was limited to? How her characters do nothing but play video games all day? Stay up, like she has, for whole nights because they couldn't sleep because thoughts like the ones she had plagued them? Write stories where her characters wait for no one to be home and then bawl until they get the hic-ups, eyes as deep of a red they can get, trying to wipe away all the tears and stains they left behind before her family noticed?

If that's what she was told to write, she might as well not write at all. She wrote about male sex, she wrote about kinky sex, she was starting to write about straight relationships and friendships. Sure, the last one she knew about, but the rest? She had no clue about how it was really like; she just did her best to convey the concept as best as she could with her words. The shaking was back, the story she wrote both helping and hurting her need to finally relax so she could get some sleep.

...Perhaps she should just get another coffee after she parts ways with her friend later in the day. She wasn't getting tired like she had hoped her writing had invoked in the past. She flipped between the two taps on her browser page, changing to a song she hadn't heard in a while, in hopes the new music might drain her anxiety. She sighed, the heat that had slowly been leaving her decided that it as going to settle in for the night so there she was, definitely stuck with her depression with her anxiety posting a 'maybe' on the invite. What was the point? She had successfully stopped her anxiety attacks before, but tonight doesn't look like it will be going in the win tally.

So, with another slow breath, she kept typing, and hoped that she would fall asleep at some point; if not within the next hour, then sometime before this hour the following night.


	2. Chapter 2

She sighed as she bit back the tears that wanted to run down her face as best as she could. She had an extremely rough day at her work; since she wasn't getting paid for writing her stories, she needed to work a job. It was the only thing that she liked doing while at the same time stress her out.

She had arrived at her work in a rather decent mood, as she usually did when her bowels were behaving and she wasn't on her period. She had talked to one of her co-workers that had been trying to move from the Deli, where she worked, up to the registers to do cashiering again; he had been very tired, having luckily picked up a nice chunk of hours, and they bantered for a few more minutes before she had to go inside the grocery store she worked at to clock-in. When she was in the break room, she chatted with her friend and assistant manager--she was about to clock back in from her lunch--and they walked back to their department, greeting the cake decorator and one of the two bakers who was working that day.

They had a production list that their department manager had made the night before, working on it with relative ease since one of the two big tasks couldn't be done; the bread they use to make the item for the grab-n-go was still in the freezer and by the time it had defrosted, it would be too late in the day to even attempt to make it, so they left a note next to the item, saying that they'd get to it the next day.

The wraps and sub sandwiches were finished up quickly, leaving the last task to pick the unsold chicken left; she was volunteered to do the task, but she didn't mind. Getting the pans and two of the whole chickens, she began to peal away the skin of the chicken, baked or fried, and started to tear the usable meat off the bone, putting it all into a large, plastic bin that she'd use while she did the task. Of course, she didn't get very far, being nearly tugged away from her task by customers; it always annoyed her when she had to stop doing what she was doing to help other people, but her customers always had to come first, no matter what.

It was around this time that she noticed that her throat felt strangely sore; it kind-of hurt to swallow which wasn't good, she was there from noon to eight that day. There was another thing she noticed after a moment too: she didn't have much of an appetite anymore. Since she normally eats twice a day at a scheduled time she knew that something was off if she wasn't hungry anymore, especially since her stomach was growling at her only a half hour before she needed to eat. Not liking what the implications of that meant, she tried to figure out what to eat in her head as she could finally step away from the department, having no customers to tend to at the moment.

And that's when an all too familiar empty feeling hit her. It was another bout of depression. She sighed mentally; it was something she was use to, getting a cold or numb feeling while she worked or was at home. It was half the reason she felt so tired all the time; she wasn't taking medication for it, it was something she could handle--unlike her anxiety. Heading back to her department, her friend noticed quickly that she wasn't feeling the best, she even explained to her her sudden loss of appetite, which was something that was truly strange; not having much of one has happened in the past, loosing it hadn't.

Having no choice but to force herself to eat something, she went along with her friend's suggestion of mac and cheese; it was warm and it was gentle on her stomach. She paid for it, along with a package of cough drops she picked up on the way back to her work space, and headed outside, her friend and co-worker manning the barbecue letting her sit down on the ice chest he had outside to keep the ribs and tri-tip roasts cold until he needed to cook more. They talked for a little bit while she ate, telling him what was going on with her--he worried about her most of the time--and he listened, talking about some things they had a shared interest in to try and get her mind off her discomfort. Wanting something warm to help soothe her throat, she left her left over food and opened bag of cough drops with him, knowing that he won't do anything to them, and went across the street to grab herself a chai latte, and her friends some coffee; they were both working long shifts that day and she knew that they would need the caffeine.

She went back to her work, rejoining her friend on the BBQ, waiting until he had taken care of his customers before handing him his drink; the duo talked for a little longer before she went back inside, all her items balanced just so, and clocked back in. When she arrived back in her department, she went back to picking chicken, wanting to get as much done in the last half hour she had with her friend and the cake decorator before they left for the night; well, the cake decorator at least, her friend was going to relieve their co-worker on the barbecue so he can work his shift inside. It was when she was totally alone in the department, trying to hurry through as much of the chicken as she could did the thought it her.

_You're an inadequate worker who can't even finish a simple task such as this. You aren't even worth the money you make at this point._

It was a stupid thought, but it was there and it drove her depression home. That numb feeling had turned hallow and she was completely empty; she tried to shake the thought from her mind, deciding to at least finish doing the boxes of 8-piece chicken before bagging up what she had done so far. After all, she did work the same shift the next day, what was there to worry about? But her mind told her otherwise.

Mind over matter, people would say, and they weren't wrong about how powerful one's thoughts could be; especially in her case. She had done everything she normally did to wiggle out of these doubts of depression when she was at work, but it wasn't working that night. Instead, she finally broke a smile when she listened to her children; she was an author after all, having wrote several dozen original stories, creating characters for those stories. She talked with them often, as crazy as it sounds to someone who doesn't create any type of original art work, and she learned a lot about who they were; her most recent kids were the ones with her that day, one of her older boy's with them and helping make her smile with his ridiculous antics.

Her day started to smooth out again, despite not looking forward to closing with one of the newer employees for her department; she was a good worker, but by God could she get on people's nerves quickly. Her day sparked up for a minute as her boss dropped by to get some wings made before she watched the baseball game that was on that night; they had become rather close after she had a bad episode of anxiety when she came in late for work--only by a few minutes, but it still un-nerved her badly that day. Her manager had went into the back of the store where all the loads and shipments came in, the darn thing was 7 hours late due to the bad weather, and she returned with a box of 8-pieces, pulling two of them out to be done once her wings were finished. It was then that her co-worker got barked at by her boss; she didn't have the best customer service, and didn't really help her out when she was slammed, only going out to the front to help people whenever they rung the bell or she took the time to actual notice that someone was there and hadn't been helped yet.

After being told that if she was in the back doing something, or if she was up front, her co-worker was suppose to keep an eye out on the front and help either her out or the customers, regardless of what she was doing. The 'oh' she responded with had made her manager flare, repeating the word to her after her co-worker went to ring up the customers, the look in her eyes wasn't every approving of her co-workers actions. Her manager went back around the counter, she handed her her packaged wings and side of sauce that she wanted and went back to doing what she could do at the time. Around 6, she told her co-worker that she was going to take some bottoms and lids they used for the whole chickens out to her friend on the barbecue, since she didn't know if she still had tri-tip to sell or not.

When she went outside, she had asked if she needed the items she brought out to her, and she said no, but asked if she could stay by the barbecue so she could take a quick smoke break before she started to shut down the BBQ and head inside; she had no problem with doing so, after all most of the friends she had smoked and her mother was a smoker too so she understood that they needed to smoke every so often. Once she was done, she helped her close down the barbecue and help take some of the things the person manning the BBQ needed to have out there with them back inside, putting them back in their proper place. When she got back to the department, she saw and overheard as the co-worker she was closing with rudely said that she couldn't finish up the current transaction for one of the younger employees the store had, since he was getting something to eat on his break. Her friend showed her--again--how to use the digital wallet any one with their membership card had access to, and finished the purchase for her, her co-worker was rude to her again, telling her that it didn't work for her the first time she did it.

Helping her friend get the stuff off the cart she had brought in from the barbecue, she overheard her co-worker complaining about her upcoming break; she only ever took two breaks when she worked an 8 hour shift, the first was her lunch and the second was at or around 6:30 pm, since it was when she ate her dinner. Her co-worker was complaining that  **she** had been out of the department several times that night already, and when she left the department last, she had been gone for nearly an hour. She said that she had to do both the front and the back of the department, that  **she** just stood around and did nothing at all. Those words had triggered her anxiety; she knew those statements were false, she had been outside with her friend for only 15 minutes at most. But her anxiety didn't fully trigger, it was her depression, the one that she had fought off only an hour or two earlier, that slashed back to her, digging deep until her emotions bled.

She was fighting so hard to not crying, knowing that she did nothing wrong, that she had been the one busting her ass every time they worked together, but her co-workers words had tripped one of the stupid little traps in her mind and she felt totally worthless, pissed off at her fellow employee for pitting the blame all on  **her** , and she couldn't keep her emotions bottled up. She had put aside some food, forgetting entirely that she had leftover mac and cheese in the break room's fridge, and she ate near silently beside one of her newer friends. Her assistant manager came into the break room a few moments after she was done eating the little amount of food she brought with her, telling her what her co-worker said to her; she always did anyway, they had a good level of trust ever since she had told her when she was threatening to quit that their bosses had promoted her to the assistant manager position for their department, mentioning that she couldn't tell anyone about it and she didn't.

She had took her to the closing PIC for that night, explaining what was going on, and he asked if she wanted to help him stock a few items to get away from her co-worker for a bit; she never agreed to something so quickly in her life. She was, honestly, pretty good friends with most of the people she worked with, both in her department and throughout the whole store, and she enjoyed his company, getting a few more items stocked as he helped a customer find something, taking the shopping cart that was used for the empty cardboard and leftover plastic into the back of the store once they were done with the load he was working on, going back to her department to give her co-worker her break.

When she was out of the department, she checked the slicers--since they were pulled apart when she went on her break--and double checked that they were clean, which one of them weren't. Taking a moment from sweeping the department, she cleaned the slicer, finishing up her sweeping and dumping the bin she swept all the dirt and fallen food into the large trashcan; she pulled out the mop bucket, the mop resting inside it, and started filling it up with soapy water. Her assistant manager had suggested to her that when her co-worker was on her break to sweep and mop the department, 'chicken dancing' as they called using the towels to dry the floor as she went. And that's what she did, doing the front of the department first since her co-worker was doing something in the back, taking a few towels with her in one of the pockets of her apron and started mopping. She told her co-worker, when she spotted her on the other side of the section she had mopped that she would take care of chicken dancing, seeing as she had placed some towels onto the floor. She had said that she needed to get to the slicers, to put them back together; clearly, she didn't want to wait the two minutes it was going to take her to dry the floor, nor did she even bother to do something else while she was mopping the front. Trying to not let her annoyance show, she didn't respond, focusing her attention on the task she was doing and letting her co-worker do what ever it was they were going to do.

Finally, after helping a customer and putting the dirty spoons into the sink to be washed, it was 8 o'clock; she could finally leave. Grabbing her things, she made her way to the break room to clock out, pausing as she walked past the ice creams and picking one of the flavors that sounded the best to her at the time; she had a feeling she might need something sweet to soothe her depression later on when she was back home. She clocked out, grabbed her things and then caught up with her friend; he wanted her to come back to the break room with him and talk, wanting to know what was going between her and the co-worker she closed with. After he clocked out and asked her to explain what was going on, she stated that she couldn't explain to him what was going on without knowing what he was told. He told her and she explained what really happened. He knew that she had anxiety-depression, but he didn't know that it's not always an anxiety attack that will make her cry at work; yes, her anxiety can trigger anxiety attacks, her depression will leave her numb and not very talkative for the rest of the night, but he didn't know that sometimes her depression can lead into an anxiety attack, or that an anxiety trigger can lead to a bout of depression.

She listened to him as he tried to give her advice on how to handle her emotions, and she always appreciated when her friends or people who cared about her tried to help, but they never understood that every time they try to help, her mind won't process that help until days after the attack or bout; and she hates it when people who don't have either anxiety or depression tell her that she shouldn't be so stressed out about such a small thing, telling her to do things that never work to stop or slow an attack. Unless they've felt like they can't take in a single drop of air or feel like everything inside of them has been drained out of them, most people don't understand the struggle it really is, nor do they understand just how strong someone like her actually was to hold in all of those emotions for as long as she did, using every bit of her power to not let her thoughts wander towards suicide, to convince herself that everything will be fine and that she's not worthless; that she's an amazing woman who has the power to change someone's day with a simple grin or just by talking to them.

She had told him that her only true vent of her anxiety and her depression was through writing her stories, but that recently she had been attacked--intentionally or no--by someone reading her works; he didn't need her to go into detail that that had only caused her even more stress and anxiety. She bought her ice cream, put her water bottle into the bag along with her receipt, walked out of her work and headed home. She tried not to break down again on the way back to her safe space. She greeted her grandmother when she entered the home--she was watching either a television show or movie based on the headphones she wore--put the ice cream away, got herself a glass of soda, went to her room, undressed after she turned on her electric blanket, put her uniform in the usual spot when she still had to work for the next few days, crawled into her bed after getting her laptop and headphones, and instead of starting to write another chapter for her story, hoping that will help her vent, she checked her email.

It was there that she saw someone had enjoyed reading the first chapter of a new story she wrote, a smile cracking her face at how clear the reader had liked her work. She then went to YouTube, listening to videos in the background as she played her new favorite game on her phone. She checked the time and the thought to write a new chapter came into her head, so she picked out a song she liked, put it on loop, and went to her main page, finding the story she wanted to expand, and started writing the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

She had just gotten done with a rough day at work; nothing bad happened, it just felt grueling long to her. Stripping out of her work uniform and settling under her electric blanket, she went to her email to check for any updates. She was thrilled when she saw a few from her favorite site to vent when she's been having a shitty day or was just trying to tame the plot bunnies in her head. Of course, her joy quickly went to sorrow, the cold tingle of her depression slipping down her limbs.

Once more, she was accused of offending her audience. The first one only had a small amount of praise in it which was only towards the smut she had written in the first chapter, the rest if it was calculated ridicule. The second one? They outright called her trans-phobic. And it hurt. She wasn't afraid of trans people, in any way; hell she was a fucking supporter of the LGBT community! So to be cast out just because her concepts couldn't be conveyed properly, it just...

She felt tears stinging her eyes. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest and she just had enough. Going to the actual site, she went to her works and clicked on the edit option. Scrolling down the page, she quickly found the story that was causing her so many issues. She mentally shook her head. They didn't know she was going to make it so the transgender character was more self-reliant and was more comfortable pushing away the negative words and gazes thrown at them; didn't know that they'd change what they wanted out of the relationships they had, ask their lovers to respect who they really were whether they're being intimate or not. The ones throwing accusations towards her had no idea where she was planning to take the story, and with her next click, they never would.

She check marked the story, scrolled back up and clicked "delete works". She wasn't going to orphan her story because she knew, deep down, she'd been the one feeling the accusations that popped up, whether she was associated with the work or not. In her heart, she felt like the people throwing their cruel words at her had won, but she just couldn't take the stress they caused her. It was better, in the end, to let people who have shown clear ignorance take a small victory than to try and fight against them.

If they read the disclaimer she purposefully put in the notes before the first chapter even started, stating that she wasn't trying to offend anyone by writing a work of fiction, in a game world where it even states "fantasy based on reality", and they still get offended, then there's no point in trying to remedy the situation. She wrote a story for a video game character, who's game world is only  **BASED** on our own, and people took it so literal, she would have been branded as someone who is afraid of trans people.

And she just won't sit by and let that happen. So, she confirmed her choice of permanently deleting a work she enjoyed writing until that first, straight up attack, and waited for it to be removed from the archives. In the back of her mind, she wonders how many other writers have been attacked like she has, felt forced like she had to delete a story they were proud of at the time, and never be able to feel like they could have posted their story on any other site without the chance of the same, cold blindness they've faced moments before they've made that faithful decision.

She found a story she hadn't updated in sometime, and started up a new chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case no one has put two and two together, this story is about me. This recent chapter is being posted because I just got fucking tired of all the hate comments I was getting on my recently deleted work Chocobo Princess; it was a story about Trans!Prompto, because I liked the idea and wanted to toy with the concept, but after getting told that I was being offensive, trans-phobic, and should just let the people who are trans write these kinds of stories and let me just write what I know best, despite researching it as best as I could given the materials I could find on the internet that popped up based on my location and explaining that I wasn't trying to be offensive or fetish-ize transgender people (which is something else I've also been accused of) I just got sick of it and chose to delete it instead of orphaning the work. I'm sorry to anyone who's reading this and enjoyed/liked the story, but given who I am and what I deal with, with my anxiety and depression, I just couldn't take it any more.


	4. Chapter 4

It...was time. Ignoring the troubles that her internet had been having now and then, she chose to update a story of her's. And...deep in her heart, she knew that this was the only way she could really come to terms with what had recently happened in her life.

One of her co-workers had passed away.

They had been fighting cancer, and she and several other of her co-workers were hoping against hope that they would make it. But...she didn't. She had lost her fight and passed on Thanksgiving day. She felt her heart breaking again as she writes, remembering the emotions she had felt when she recieved the news early that Saturday morning; getting woken up by one for her friends from work calling her, feeling as her heart stopped for a moment, a hand covering her mouth as the tears bit at the corners of her eyes. Distantly, she heard as her father and uncle talked, her aunt, cousin, and grandmother conversing with them as the started moving stuff out the house to make room for them, her aunt and cousin being forced out of their home that they had been renting for years. Her conversation with her friend was short, both wanting to contact their ex-co-worker who now worked as her old job, seeing as he and...Denise were close.

Hanging up the phone after saying goodbye, she looked up her old work phone number, asking for the man; she explained to the manager that she wanted to let him know about Denise's passing, and they said that they'd try to get in touch with them. She decided that she would leave the house a little earlier to check and see if they were there or not. Her father came into her room, she was still in bed, and asked what was wrong. She explained that she was try not to break down crying again, since it had been a good 20 minutes before she had called her old work, since she learned that her friend and co-worker passed away.

She gave a weak smile as he stroked her hair, giving her a gentle hug, before going back to helping her uncle and cousin move some heavy items into the moving van. She checked the time on her phone, choked down the tears and sobs wanting to leave her, and got dressed. Her uncle noticed that something was off about her and asked if everything was alright; her grandmother and aunt were walking back down the hall when she told him that Denise had passed away. They offered her soft smiles and hugs, her aunt telling her to try and have a good day as she left the driveway, walking down the streets to get to her work.

She took a detour to her old work, simply checking in to see if the manager had gotten a hold of the man, but he hadn't yet. Tugging the strap of her purse to a more comfortable position, she walked across the street and down to the Human Bean that, thankfully, was right across the street from where she worked. She ordered five peppermint hot chocolates, her way of commemorating the woman who helped her become more confidant and find a way to laugh at work when they were all in a foul mood. She was there early, a full half hour early, because she wanted to talk to the people in her department, along with one of her PIC's who knew Denise.

Their cake decorator had commented that, even though Denise's passing is hard, at least she isn't in pain anymore. And she agreed, but it was still hard for her. Anyone she worked with, no matter how long it was, becomes part of her personal family; they become part of a family that isn't connected to her by blood, the one she's created through the talks they had, the time they spent together, the care they showed for her, and she loved and cared about them all. So for her to lose a member of her family so suddenly like that, no chance to say how much she loved her, to...to be unable to say goodbye to her.

She blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to hard to not cry as she typed the chapter. Her chest was tightening as she recalled it all; the worry she had for her close friends, how her department manager was going to take the news, since her and Denise were so close. Having not thought about Denise's passing had made moving on a little bit... She didn't know how to say it: easier? Simpler? Less stressful, she decided. She switched tabs, listening to music from a playlist she created on YouTube, and put the current song on loop, suddenly realizing just how much the song matched with what she was writing at the moment.

The day was long and slow, her heart being released from the tight grip her emotions had on it, focusing less on how she was feeling at the moment, trying to gauge how her friends were feeling and seeing if she couldn't make a few of them smile or laugh. It didn't help that everyone she worked with that day, outside of the new girl she was closing the department down with, has worked with or was trained by Denise. They all loved her, loved how she could make them laugh, how easy she could explain something so you could understand what needed to be done.

Denise...was an amazing woman. And she has to train her mind to not feel sorrow or grief when she thinks of this wonderful person; she has to replace all the bad emotions she feels right now, slowly, with the good ones. To recall all of the fun times and silly moments she had shared with her; to remember just how quickly her mind fell into the gutter and how badly she wanted to laugh louder at those comments. Retain how her smile looked, how her laugh sounded, how gentle her guidance was despite the sometimes harsh tone or wording.

She swallowed back the tears and the twisting pain in her chest. This...was what she needed to do in order for her to properly grieve. A little smirk twitched her lips.  _House of Memories is the right song for this indeed._ She always liked that Panic! At The Disco had so many great songs to fit her mood.

Doing one last glance over of her work, she updated her story, going back to her home page and started to work on another chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Living with family members was...well it was something that was normal, and beneficial for her because it helped ease her anxiety, but at the same time, they can also be the cause of her anxiety too.

She had went to her work because the chocolates that she had bought to help out one of Kelly's sons had finally come in, so he went down to pick them up, and ended up staying there for the rest of her friend's shift because one of their co-workers had straight up quit. She had called and texted Dean to let him know the chocolates had come in and that Kelly had them so he could get them, and when he came down and saw that Sherry was still working because if she hadn't Kelly would have been alone for the whole night, and managed to convince Sherry to go home and he worked the rest of the shift with Kelly.

After they had finished everything up and they clocked out, they spent some time together around Kelly's car before she left, Dean heading over to the gas station and she went with him, saying that she wanted to poke her head into the Walgreen's that was across the street to see if they had something she wanted. They went over there and she bought a couple of things for Dean, not minding at all when she did things like that because she liked to help them out and she knew they'd pay her back either in cash or with food and drinks.

She spent a little more time with Dean after they left the store and then she went home. She had wanted to kill a little more time anyway because when she got home, she was going to eat her treat of some chocolate covered strawberries that she had bought from her work earlier in the month and was saving them for the day before valentines as her gift to herself.

So when she got home and put her bags in her room, sorting out what needed to go where, she had been expecting to find the little container of strawberries in the fridge, going to take them back into her room and eat them while she watched some YouTube videos.

Only, they weren't in there.

Much to her frustrating disappointment, someone had either thrown them away or eaten them and that greatly upset her mood. She was looking forward to eating them, having actually planned to have the treat the night before valentine's because she didn't have anyone to spend the day with that wasn't her friends or family. As she put the other items she had purchased away, she bit back the tears that wanted to form in her eyes. She was mad. That was her food, why the hell was her family throwing it away? Or even touching it in the first place?

Twice already, someone else in the house had taken or eaten something she wanted to have; the second time when the food had just been bought that very day, she was so confused when she couldn't find it, finding out later who it was who ate it. While she didn't mind if someone had her food, she'd like to know beforehand so if it was something she still wanted, she could buy more or tell them that she was planning on eating it later that night. And she was really hoping that someone did actually eat it, rather than toss it in the trash.

Taking a small, steadying sigh, she placed the candy she had on her nightstand, decided to settle on that instead of walking all the way back to her work so she could have more strawberries actually eat herself. She opened up her laptop, waited for the wi-fi signal to connect, then found one of her stories that she hadn't updated for a very long time, and started another chapter.


End file.
